


good boy

by bunshima



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, oof uhh what do i tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 04:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14686518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunshima/pseuds/bunshima
Summary: Between thin iron bars, an arm was pushed outside. A clawed hand scratches at the marble exterior. Without getting close, Sandalphon can see deep furrows in the stone. His common sense screams at him to stay away from whatever is in that cell, but he's never been one to listen (... except to Lucifer, that is). Upon reaching the cell, Sandalphon can't believe his eyes. He gazes into the same pale-faced visage that he so fondly awaits every day.But he knows. That's not Lucifer.





	good boy

**Author's Note:**

> hey so about things being written on a whim....... boy have i got more for u
> 
> disclaimer: not proofread, lucilius isnt just an asshole hes the whole ass, headcanons galore ofc

Soft wind ruffles brown hair, drawing a content sigh from Sandalphon. His day has been quite uneventful so far; hours were spent in the soothing afternoon sun, cherishing daylight in the best way– sprawled out on his stomach with spread wings, lazing around on the richly green grass. At times like this, he doesn't mind that he has no task of his own. He possesses freedom and time to do things the primarchs don't. That, however, comes with a high price. A grunt leaves him, quickly banishing that thought with a quick shake of the head. The weather's nice, and he should enjoy that.

A horrid noise reaches him. At an instant, Sandalphon is on his fours, wings bristling. The source of it is ahead; it comes from the new laboratory wing. It's a grating, blood-curdling scratching. Lucilius has created his angels with shape senses, much to Sandalphon's disdain. It feels as though someone is scraping something directly across his ear drums. Without second thought he gets up, making his way across the grassy terrain to the construct of only the finest marble. It's ironic, really– Astrals have such a strong sense for aesthetics, yet their architecture contains the stuff of horrors. Once at the entrance of the building, the primarch peeks around the corner, to where the windows of the cells are. His creators use them to quarantine the new ones for a few days to determine whether they're ‘defective’ or not. Thanks to Lucifer, Sandalphon never had to live through that, and he's aware of how lucky he is. He would've continued that train of thought but the grating on his eardrums is slowly but surely making his brain deteriorate.

Between thin iron bars, an arm was pushed outside. A clawed hand scratches at the marble exterior. Without getting close, Sandalphon can see deep furrows in the stone. His common sense screams at him to stay away from whatever is in that cell, but he's never been one to listen (... except to Lucifer, that is). Upon reaching the cell, Sandalphon can't believe his eyes. He gazes into the same pale-faced visage that he so fondly awaits every day.

But he knows. That's not Lucifer.

This is Azazel, Lucilius’ newest obsession. The fact that they look exactly alike– save for Azazel's burly physique and additional height– never fails to startle the primarch. He doesn't know him, but he's heard of the newcomer in passing. Mostly because Lucilius won't shut up about him.

The new specimen seems to be as surprised as Sandalphon. He can barely see the bright purple eyes behind shaggy white hair, but he can tell they're wide open. Sickly blue lips part, baring sharp fangs. “Hungry.“, Azazel speaks to him with a hoarse voice. Tremors shake him as he reaches for the angel with his talons, causing him to shy away just a bit. He may be weak, but that's no reason to let your guard down. Even with only a fraction of his strength, Azazel could cause lethal wounds with those.

There has been no direct request– not even a full sentence– yet the primarch feels the strong need to feed him. Yeah, sure– all interaction with new subjects is strictly prohibited while they’re in quarantine, but fuck that. There's anger seething deep in the pit of Sandalphon’s stomach; occurrences like these are considered the norm, despite the fact that they’re sentient beings. However, he's well aware that Astrals don't think twice about that; they simply don't care. If it’s alive, it is certainly a plaything befitting the Astrals. They consider it their natural right.

Driven forward by this clear display of cruelty, Sandalphon reassures softly, “I'll get you something.”

For a mere moment he can see the other’s demeanor light up in an instant, ten sharp talons gripping the bars tightly as Azazel bounces out of sheer excitement in his spot. He seems to make an attempt at saying something, though unable to find words. It's no wonder, really; your vocabulary can only include so many words when you're mere days old and no one takes the time to teach you.

Sandalphon turns on his heel and walks past the remaining cell windows, heels clacking on the stone path. He already has an idea where to get food… although it might be a bad idea. Behind the laboratory complex is a small, secluded area, guarded by high ornate fences and a high hedge in addition, to shield what's inside from curious looks. A garden. Lucilius’ personal garden, to be exact. One might consider it the lion's den, with the Astral being the ferocious protector of his dearly beloved plants. Sandalphon remembers sneaking through the fence as a child once and well, the aftermath of his little exploration tour is not something he likes to think about. Usually, the gate is closed, but from afar he can already tell that it's wide open. His step hastens, head turning in every possible direction out of paranoia. It's not like Lucilius to leave his precious garden unattended like that, but whatever– he decides to disregard that for now, for Azazel's sake.

With some leftover hesitation, he sneaks past the gate. Once past the hedge, he's met by plain green flora and the prettiest flowers he's ever seen alike, all neatly labeled with a tiny sign that has name and usage engraved. The strong scent of nectar is intoxicating. Fine stone of different colors, laid out in varying patterns, paves his way and something tells him that he should stay on it lest he steps on one of Lucilius’ priced blossoms. As much as he would like to take a stroll in peace and read every little label, medicinal herbs and ornamental plants aren't what he seeks. Sandalphon knows well, there's a parted section with trees and bushes that bear enough fruit to feed Estalucia for weeks (or perhaps that's nonsense; children see everything as giant and impressive after all).

Good thing that his creator is an extremely organized individual, who took the time to even add signs at spots where the path branches off. Thanks to that, he quickly finds what he's looking for: a closed off part, shaded by the large hedge. All that Sandalphon is able to focus on is the tree standing right in the middle of the rich green meadow. Plump yellow fruit causes the branches to hang low with their weight– low enough to reach for them with one's bare hands. Without second thought, he rushes forward with Azazel's suffering in mind. He doesn't notice the table with a set of chairs in the shade on which a still lit pipe rests nor the faint scent of tobacco emanating from it. A last time, his head swivels around quickly before his hand reaches for the best looking low hanging fruit he can find. They look even more delicious than he recalls. You know, it doesn’t seem like a bad way to exist– sitting in this beautiful scenery for the entire afternoon… and shovelling fruit down his gullet by the dozen (needless to say, he didn’t learn from the scolding he was given after he tried to do just that when he was younger).

Pale spindly fingers curl around his wrist tightly, dead cold as if they belong to a corpse. Sandalphon freezes at once, unable to look at who just caught him. Shivers chase down his spine and his feathers bristle with discomfort.

“What do you think you're doing, Sandalphon?” It is Lucifer's voice, albeit stone-cold–

Lucilius.

He decides to look at the Astral and is met by an expression, completely devoid of all emotion. He's in deep shit. His mind races at a hundred miles an hour. How can he get out of this? Lucifer isn't here to keep from receiving the Astral's draconic punishments. A subtle tremor shakes his frame as he stares at Lucilius like a deer in the headlights.

“Explain yourself.”, he presses on.

It's no use. He might as well tell him the truth. Perhaps he won't be pricked as hard with needles this time. “My apologies. I-I… Azazel has asked me to bring him something to eat.”

In response, the grip on his wrist tightens further, so much that Sandalphon feels like his bones might break. It's hard to tell with that emotionless expression of his, but Lucilius is absolutely boiling with rage. His lips are pressed into a tight line; the one detail that betrays his foul mood. A bad sign, frankly. Immediately, Sandalphon’s thoughts spiral out of control. This is it. By the time Lucifer returns, he will be part of the primordial soup yet again, after Lucilius has beat him into bloody pulp for stealing fruit from garden Eden. Cold sweat builds on his back. Curse Lucifer for teaching him to be kind and courteous.

“I shall allow it.” Huh?

Lucilius lets go of him at once, and Sandalphon doesn't think twice. Quickly, he picks four of the biggest yellow fruits he can find on that branch before him, carrying them in the front of his hoodie. There's no second thoughts about why the fuck Lucilius would allow him to take from his beloved botany, but that's not important right now. He isn't even aware that the the Astral simply watches his clumsy movements and slowly follows him when he paces back to the lab cells, where Azazel desperately awaits his return.

Long claws already reach greedily for the gifts Sandalphon brings. Loud whining breaks from Azazel's throat when they both struggle to press a particularly thick fruit through the cell bars. But that subsides by the time he gets to sink his fangs into the rich fruit flesh. To be frank, watching the new one feast like that makes Sandalphon hungrier than ever, but the other needs it more than he does. By the time Lucilius joins them, Azazel is about to go for seconds.

“Good day, Azazel.”, he says with an unusually soft tone and a subtle nod of his head.

For some reason, the angel visibly hesitates after being spoken to by Lucilius. The Astral's presence seems to unsettle him greatly, evident in the quick glances he gives him and puffed up wings. But Sandalphon remains oblivious to that. Even when the angel shies away for reasons unknown, he doesn't notice.

“Here's another one.”, he says with a soft tone of voice, managing to push most of his forearm through the bars. The air around them is thick and heavy.

Azazel doesn't take it, refuses it entirely all of a sudden.

Sandalphon waits a moment before he gives up.

“C'mon, I thought you're hungry.”, the primarch sighs, suspecting that his chivalrous efforts were in vain. It's silent for what feels like an eternity. Then, one of Lucilius’ hands has a bruising grip on his shoulder, holding his arm in place between the iron bars. When Sandalphon looks at his creator to question what the meaning of this is, he gazes into the epitome of a smug demeanor.

With a voice sweet like honey, the Astral speaks to his new favorite plaything, “Azazel. Break his arm.”

There's no room for him the primarch to react. By the time the realization of what has been said hits him, his forearm already bends unnaturally over the edge of the stone windowsill with the blood curdling cracking of breaking bones. The pain voids his lungs of all air, hot tears welling up in his eyes. He would've screamed if there had been a single trace of oxygen left in him. Another moment later and Sandalphon keens in pain at Azazel who still has a tight grip on his broken forearm. He wants to flee so desperately, but between the stone wall and Lucilius is a shit place to be. The new specimen is eerily quiet and Sandalphon can see no reaction on his face. It's neutral. Unnatural. Devoid of any and all emotion. Empty eyes are fixated on him, usually slanted pupils dilated to large circles, pushing his iris to a minimum.

“Twist it.”

And that's what Azazel does.

His legs give in beneath his weight and the primarch sees his vision darken at the edges from the sensation on its own. No further noises leave him, because his pride keeps him from giving Lucilius that. It was a trap. His head is so swamped by the visceral pain that he barely manages to realize that much. Azazel's strong grip makes bruises bloom beneath pale skin. The following moments last forever. All he can feel and think of are his own broken bones digging into his flesh. His eyes are widened in shock and his build shakes with pure adrenaline.

“Now, let go of him.”

Again, Azazel obeys as if drilled to stand at Lucilius’ every beck and call. Little does Sandalphon know that this is the exact reason why the Astral is so smitten with him. Everything about him screams ‘hunter’ and ‘predator’. From the raptor-like wings to the curved claws and countless sharp fangs. His eardrums pop when his fucked up arm drops into his lap and hot tears drip onto it. As sturdy as Lucifer has built him, this is a lot. His vision flickers and he keeps getting smaller in his spot, close to losing consciousness.

Not even Azazel's sudden horrified screams can tear him from his trance.

Sandalphon can't see it, but it seems that the angel has just regained his consciousness after witnessing the happenings first hand without being able to stop himself. He screams and cries in sheer terror, shaking violently all over. Incoherent pieces of words are thrown at Lucilius who is obviously proud of his creation. Once Azazel has lost his already hoarse voice from crying out and is forced to mewl and keen, the Astral speaks up anew,

“Come here.” Cue a few clicks of his tongue as he pushes his thin forearm between the bars. “C’mere, Azazel.”, he repeats softly, as if dealing with a timid animal. Despite his visible distress, Azazel obeys yet again, returns to his spot at the iron bars, his head lowered. As a reward for his splendid work, Lucilius ruffles his shaggy hair which draws a loud rumble from the depths of the angel's chest.

A soft ‘good boy’ is the last thing Sandalphon can hear before dropping onto his side, after eventually losing his grip on consciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!! (kudos + comments appreciated)


End file.
